


What A Ridiculous Notion

by moonoverwings



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Fluff, Hidden Relationship, Humor, Lots of Unabashed Smirking, M/M, Ship Ahoy, Teasing, Tons of Innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonoverwings/pseuds/moonoverwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation Childermass highly enjoyed at Mr Norrell's most amusing expense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What A Ridiculous Notion

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the time when Childermass was stealing Jonathan Strange's letters on Mr Norrell's orders.
> 
> Characters are based on the BBC TV Versions.
> 
> Fan Fic was inspired by the fact a black cat has been trying to jump into my blimmin' car everyday for the past week. (I have no idea why.)

The day had been quite boring, in Childermass's opinion. Although it had shown promise early on. Lucas, the servant boy, had accidentally dropped and smashed an ornately decorated plate upon having one of the new maids plant a kiss upon his lips, who in turn had then been chided by an angry Cook. But none of this occurred before a rogue black cat had been seen stalking around the kitchen making that same said Cook shriek, fall backwards into a tall cupboard and destroy half the antique plates the master owned.

But of course their master, Mr Gilbert Norrell, had no idea and probably didn't care about these goings on within his own household of Hurtfew Abby. (Unless he was made aware a filthy cat had entered the building.) Now, if it had been a full and handsome bookshelf that had met this unfortunate end, however, things would have conspired to make this a very interesting day for Mr Norrell's closest friend and adviser.

His master was presently to be found, sitting in his favourite arm chair by the fireplace, a book firmly placed on his lap, spectacles balanced on the end of his nose, white wig fixed firmly to his head and a face completely devoid of any emotion apart from intense concentration. Silence was the order of the day, as was most days, and the only sound one could hear now, apart from Cook's echoed shouting from the closed door to the library that kiss chase was not an amble use of anyone's free time, was the scratching of Childermass' quill upon paper. The gruff man of York looked up as he heard a crinkling of paper from Mr Norrell's direction and frowned. In his master's hands was not an expectant book but rather a white letter with the most cursive and flowery hand writing he had ever seen in his life upon in. He blinked. His master had a letter from...a woman? And from the looks of it, a very talented cartographer of a woman. A thought that his master had been entertaining the idea of consorting in a love affair breezed though Childermass's mind but did not stay there for long for the silence was broken by a single tut.

"Strange talks about love the way a miser talks about money," Mr Norrell said tartly with a sigh, turning over to another stolen page of his magical rivals' love letters to his wife, "I do not understand what all the fuss is about."

Childermass sucked in a groan and looked back down at his own paper work. He should have known it was one of Strange's letters that Mr Norrell was devouring and not some random female admirer's. He jotted down the date upon his work and kept his mouth shut as Mr Norrel scoffed. Childermass felt very uncomfortable that Norrell was ordering him to divert private letters between a man and his wife. He had mentioned to Norrell his feelings of misgivings to which the man just looked at him with an air of "who is the master in this house?" for Norrell would never say such a thing out loud to Childermass's face. He was beyond bemused why Norrell was so interested in reading what sweet nothings Jonathan Strange reserved only for his wife. But if there was one area where he couldn't say no too, was to Mr Norrell, for some very annoying and irritating reason that his monthly paycheck had nothing to do with. Although, he had on a few occasions spoke up and swayed his master from an ill choice of action, if only for the man's own good. Childermass smirked remembering that Norrell would always look at him when he was about to make an important decision. A cock of his servant's head to the side, a nod, even a slow blink would intimately indicate to Norrell what Childermass thought was best. But as always with his master, the man was ridiculously indecisive and Childermass had spent far too long with the man to not care.

A servant Childermass may be, but between the two men, both of them secretly agreed the taller was the wiser.

Childermass made a face and forced his eyes to focus on the task at hand. A shopping list of items had been delivered to Hurtfew Abby and as chief head of house, he took stock that all the items were correct and present. New clothes, five old books on magic (that Norrell quickly scampered over and snapped up before Childermass could even touch them) and a collection of bars of soap. Childermass leaned over to the purple box, picked one up, turning the innocent looking white cube over in his tobacco stained fingers, before bring it to his nose, but the aroma of over powering lavender hit his nostrils almost instantly and he quickly placed it back with it's neighboring bars with a scowl.

"You are my rock, when I need sound advice. My sky, you are my air! The air in which I breathe. My bed is cold without your cunning mind nearby and I cannot think of a day where your service and love have not been appreciated."

Childermass looked up with an annoyed and confused frown, feeling his stomach jolt in disgusting excitement at just who Mr Norrell was referring too.

"This is the man I am up against, Childermass," Mr Norrell said, with a scoff of a laugh, " _'You are my air?...'_ what utter rubbish," Mr Norrell continued, throwing the papers down onto the nearby low fireside table in front of him, "Air is more important than some fancy of the female flesh and if one is cold, why not obtain a heated bedpan? And what's more, I don't understand, is Mrs Strange says the very same thing _back_ to him!" 

Childermass stared at the man.

Mr Norrell tutted and folded his hands together, leaning back in his chair, looking into the fire, "Utterly incomprehensible these people-"

"Forgive me sir, but..."

Norrell turned his head a fraction towards Childermass's voice with an annoyed frown.

" 'ave you thought about takin' a wife?"

Mr Norrell's head snapped round and his cold and tiny stare bore straight into his servant's.

"What a ridiculous notion," Norrell huffed, turning back to face the fire, leaning over his table to take up his faithful book again, "I shall have no wife. What good would that do me?"

"You could have someone to talk too," Childermass said as Mr Norrell huffed and began to read his book, "To share you magical knowledge with. To warm your bed-"

"Why should I find need of a wife when you do all those things?"

Childermass's eyebrows shot up so far his own forehead they nearly disappeared into his messy hair. Mr Norrell slowly became aware of an awkward and intense silence and was about to ask why Childermass looked so startled until he realized what one of those tasks involved. The implication danced around the two men as the silence stretched and Mr Norrell's face bloomed into a very handsome shade of crimson.

"I mean-I-don't-forgive me, I did not mean-"

"No, I quite agree," Childermass said thoughtfully, trying to hide the smile on his face by biting the inside of his cheek, as he saw how red Norrell's face was becoming. Seemed this day was going to show promise after all. Nothing like having a bit of fun, at Norrell's expense, now was there?

"I do talk to you. I do learn magic from you. I bring ya' food. And as for sharing your bed, sir..." Childermass trailed off, eyes looking to the side of the room before they settled on a flustered Norrell, "...I find I would take issue with the snoring."

"I do not mean I- wait," Norrell said, suddenly pausing with an offended frown, "wait, I do not _snore_ -!"

"Oh, yes you do," Childermass said with a small but serious nod, "We can 'ear it down corridor."

"Utter rot," Mr Norrell shot back with a huff, "If you were standing by my bed side you would have no doubt that I do not snore-"

"Two year ago we shared a bed, remember?" Childermass cut into the air as a very shocked Norrell watched in a trance Childermass rise from his seat and come to a stop before him, leaning back on the room's largest table with a fold of his arms across his chest, "On a trip to Edinburgh? There were a blizzard, a miss understanding with the local inn and only one bed-?"

"Yes, yes, Childermass, you do not have to remind me," Mr Norrell said into his book, trying with all his might to ignore how Childermass's shadow now fell over him, obscuring part of the text in his book, "I did not object to us sharing a bed as you would have been sleeping on the floor. What choice did I have?"

"You snored then, but I kept me silence. Even when I awoke to find 'alf of your body on top a mine-"

"You _kicked_ me."

"...what?"

"Hard, I might add. In the rear!" Mr Norrell said with a perpetual frown, "I had half a mind to kick you right back-"

"Then why didn't ya?" Childermass said as he watched, trying with all his might to hide the grin that was just one quip away. Mr Norrell was flustered and Childermass's ego purred.

"I am in no hurry to repeat such an experience," Norrell said quickly, "Besides," Norrell said, suddenly becoming very preoccupied with his book, "You wreak of an chimney sweep. Such an aroma should gag me-"

"You took no issue back then."

Norrell stared at the center of the book, not reading it, clamping his mouth shut. Trying to out whit Childermass was like trying to herd a very grumpy set of cats.

Childermass began to stroke his chin thoughtfully, feeling two day's worth of stubble. Seeing Norrell so flustered was on his top list of things to do, but not in a cruel manner. A bit of banter now and again kept his brain ticking over and passing the dull hours where Norrell might as well turn himself into a statue for all the movement he made when reading by the fireside.

"If my, _aroma_ , as ya' call it, is giving you cause for concern," Childermass said, taking his hand away from his face and folding his arms again, "then I could take a bath-"

"A bath!" Norrell laughed, turning his head to look up at the man, "When was the last time _you_ took one of those?"

Childermass's dark and intense eyes locked onto Norrell's own so fast the shorter man felt himself physically sink into the large chair. Desperate to change the subject, for Childermass had the stare of someone who could make Norrell sink to his knees, the magician coughed and offered a small shrug, "I suppose that is what wives do, too? Run baths for their husbands while unashamedly scrubbing their naked backs?-"

"And I haven't, Sir?"

Norrell looked up again and saw a brazenly smirking Childermass leaning against the main table still with his arms crossed. Mr Norrell scowled. The man was teasing him on purpose with his silly banter and innuendo games. Where as most people who resided and worked in his house hold believed Childermass had a stick up his arse, underneath the exterior he was a fountain of genius. Mr Norrell hadn't been surprised when he found out Childermass had once been a pick pocket and, ironically, was pleased the man had a certain air of street about him. At least the man knew all the un-godly tricks of the trade so if any other sinister pick pocket-er was to come within a mile of him, Childermass would protect him like how a tigress does over her cubs. But as with all geniuses, his intelligence and pride had to come out some how. So, they would sometimes do this when they were alone. Play with words and try to out-tease the other. A couple of times Norrell had gotten one over on his servant but lamented at great length afterwards if the man had offered him the winning taunt due to his own tiredness at the game. As to who started these verbal tennis games of set and matches in the first place, Mr Norrell noticed it was mostly Childermass doing the initiating which to some people sounded like down right and rude sarcasm from a servant to its master. But Norrell had been around the man for far too long to confuse the two.

"Throw the letters inta' the fire, Mr Norrell." Childermass said with a nod of his head towards the fireplace, sensing the silence and Mr Norrell's reluctance at forming a response to his playful question. Feeling he was pushing the man to the end of the game, Childermass reached over and picked up the bundle of letters, looking down at them,"If Strange catches you with 'em..."

Mr Norrell looked up and quickly snatched the papers up from the man's hand, ignoring with all his might how soft Childermass's fingers were as they accidentally brushed against his own and forced his eyes to focus at the blue cursive writing of Mrs Strange's letters.

Mr Norrell felt his frustration at how hot his cheeks were and huffed. Two could play at this game.

"Perhaps you're right, I should take a wife," he said thoughtfully, shooting Childermass a very quick and dirty look "...my bed is cold in the winter, her cooking would have that much needed attention that I currently find lacking and I shall like to have something to curl up next too that does not contain the stench of week old tobacco."

He heard Childermass shift his body.

"And if I _was_ to take a wife, which now sounds very well," Mr Norrell continued, trying not to grin at how he knew Childermass was scowling at him, "then you would have her to tend to as well, waiting on hand and foot. Which means that there will be none of this..." he said, flicking a finger between them. Norrell kept his gaze down at his book and waited for Childermass to take the bait but silence was his only answer. He chanced a look up and saw the man very slowly uncross his arms and walk back to his own desk with a slight slouch. Mr Norrell watched the man's back and found he was quite distracted by the man's pony tail swaying too and fro. Mr Norrell felt he had perhaps spoken out of term, for the only way Childermass would ever show he was genuinely upset with Mr Norrell was to turn his back on him. The magician worried his brow and opened up his mouth to perhaps apologize but stopped when he saw the taller man lean over his small servant desk, pick up a bar of soap and shoot him the widest smirk Norrell had ever seen on the man's face.

Mr Norrell sighed. He was tired of this game, even if he felt his cheeks beginning to warm as he bent over and picked up one of Mrs Strange's letters from the small fireside table again.

"This matter with Strange is none of your concern, Childermass," Mr Norrell sighed, "You should leave for a while, for I fear this quarrel with this impossible love struck man will only drag onwards, not to mention this trouble with Lady Pole. I fear to where it may lead..."

He looked over to see Childermass had cocked his head to the side and was watching him as one watches one of the great speakers. Mr Norrell paused. It seemed Mrs Strange was perhaps not unlike Childermass. Always there to lend a hand, always helping and giving advice to ground him. Plus, giving him a well needed metaphorical clip round the ear when he was going too far with magic.

Mr Norrell smirked and looked at his best friend.

" _You_ should take a wife."

Childermass smirked with a scoff.

"And why should I do such a thing when I 'ave you?"

Now it was Mr Norrell's turn to nearly loose his eyebrows to the heavens.

The master and servant locked eyes. That undefined bond between them seemed to manifest itself in the room, dancing around the walls. Neither could see it or properly agree to call it by it's true name. But there was one thing they could agree on. Both needed each other. For what reason, neither man knew and were content to poke at that nameless thing for as long as possible.

There was a bang and a crash from outside their door followed by a shriek of a cat.

"God heavens, is that a cat?!" Mr Norrell squeaked, a rash threatening to break out over his skin in terror.

"Lucas!" Childermass shouted and jogged over to the door. He growled to himself for either the new maid had just kiss-jumped Lucas or that blasted vagabond of a cat had.

Childermass reached the door, put his hand on the brass knob and smirked, turning around. "Perhaps it's for the best, Sir," he said as Norrell looked up from his momentary cat induced nightmare with a confused gaze. "I don't think any wife of yours, or mine, would fit into this house hold as well as 'alf ya staff do," he said before failing to resist the urge at one last parting shot, "Even if we have to put up with the snoring."

John Childermass quickly opened up the door, exited and closed it, walking briskly to where Cook was shouting as he heard Mr Norrell's own shrieking joining in the chorus of Cook and Cat.

"I DO NOT SNORE, CHILDERMASS!"

~


End file.
